


Santa Cas

by ricketyjukeboxer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Oreos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 11:12:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12680724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricketyjukeboxer/pseuds/ricketyjukeboxer
Summary: Cas decides that Jack needs some childhood experiences and urges him to stay up on Christmas Eve to see if Santa is real. But Dean finds Santa Cas first. Some making out ensues. Also some feels.





	Santa Cas

Cas pauses to appreciate the garish glow of 150 multi-colored twinkle lights blinking on and off with seizure-inducing persistence. It's well past midnight in the bunker and while Cas is no stranger to the sense of quiet as the rest of the occupants sleep, he's counting on Jack being awake tonight. The boy has been watching Christmas movies all month, helped along by the all-knowing artificial intelligence that is Netflix suggestions. 

"Is Santa Claus real?" Jack asks one afternoon. It is not an unreasonable question, given the fact that he lives with three men who hunt vampires and werewolves and ghosts. There is hope in his eyes.

Cas smiles and offers an enigmatic shrug. The joyful wonder of childhood can't hurt, so Cas says: "Why don't you stay up on Christmas eve and see?" 

And here he is, dressed in a cheap Santa costume, suffering hot breath through a fluffy synthetic beard strapped to his face. He lugs a bag full of gifts and since Cas is generally in the holiday spirit this year, there are presents for all three residents of the bunker. 

As he arranges the packages beneath the anemic, but well-intentioned tree, he feels ridiculous. Giddy too, though, warmth swelling up in his chest. 

Dean clears his throat and Cas wheels. "How long have you been standing there?" Cas accuses. 

The interloper's bow-legged shadow looms in the door frame, leaning, and Cas feels his heart clench as it always does when confronted with the figure of this man. 

"Long enough to watch your dignity disappear right up that chimney," Dean quips and steps into the gawdy pink and green bloom of light. It casts shadows on his face and Cas can't help but be caught up in admiring the sharp bridge of Dean's nose, slightly bent from being broken one too many times. He feels hot and suddenly sweaty beneath the chintzy white faux-fur collar. Maybe it was only other angels who didn't sweat under any circumstances. 

"It's for Jack. And if he catches you speaking with me, the whole thing will be ruined." 

"Hate to break it to you, but Jack's konked out on the couch. Plate of Oreos, glass of milk, real Kodak moment." Dean holds up his phone and Cas leans in to see that he's taken a picture of the scene he just described. It perplexes him, because Dean has made it abundantly clear that he doesn't approve of raising Jack like they aren't going to have to kill him someday. Even with Castiel's return, Dean is holding the nephilim at arm's length. 

"Why did you take that?" Cas asks as he tugs off the fake beard in mild defeat.

Dean looks guilty, but maybe it's only a trick of the soft lighting. "To show you," he replies with a shrug and Cas can feel that warmth in his chest again, the kind that presses at the boundaries of his heart. It's been nagging at him ever since he returned from the Empty. 

Perhaps 'full' is how one should feel, coming back from a place so hollow. No one would know, given that no one has done it before. But full is how Cas feels right now, looking at Dean holding a picture of Jack sprawled on the couch with his mouth hanging open, too tired to stay awake to catch him as Santa Claus. 

Before Cas can register, Dean has turned the camera around and captures a photo of him, wide-eyed in front of the sad little Christmas tree, still clutching a forgotten gift in his hand. "I'll tell him I caught you," Dean offers and Cas can't stand it anymore. He lunges forward and kisses the man who, despite his reservations, is creating a family for all of them. Both the gift and the phone clatter to the floor. 

Whatever Dean may have said next dissolves into a moan, the words lost forever, and the sound spurs Cas onward, hands coming up to catch fingers in Dean's hair. It has been a question existing on the edges of Cas' mind for years, perpetually confounding the wavelength of celestial intent: If Cas just kissed him, would Dean kiss back? 

He does and the fervor of it is enough to set Cas to flame. When Dean's tongue traces the outline of Cas' bottom lip, he yields, opening his mouth hungrily to accept the slide of Dean's tongue massaging against his own. The sensation sends pleasure cascading straight to his cock, making his hips twitch forward to chase the crush of Dean's who obliges by gripping Cas and pulling them flush. The sounds Cas makes are unearthly, gasping, tremulous. Dean devours every one. 

"We can't come back from this," Cas whimpers, tilting his chin down to break the connection of their lips. Already, he feels kiss swollen, drunk, needy. 

Pulling back so that Dean can focus on Cas' face, he frowns. "I don't want to," he murmurs urgently before hesitating. "Do you? Christ, Cas--do you want to go back to before already?" Dean's eyes search Cas' wildly, darting across the planes of his face, hunting for any indication that his night is going to end very badly. 

"No!" Cas nearly shouts his response. "When I said I love you, I meant it." 

Dean groans with relief and presses his lips to Cas' neck, tugging at the ridiculous fur collar before shoving him back against the post supporting the upper balcony. Cas feels himself sink back down into the rich soft blanket of Dean's attentions. "And I meant it when I gave you that mixtape," Dean says against Cas' throat, just as he gets a hand under the comically large Santa belt to graze the calloused pads of his fingertips against the delicate skin hitched over Cas' hipbones. 

"Dean..." a plea.

And all at once, their hands are everywhere, hesitation cast to the Empty. When Dean's thigh finds its way between Cas' legs, he ruts wantonly against it until Dean pulls back. 

"Like this," Dean's voice is low, scraping the bottom of his range, weighted with lust. Bringing his hands around, he grips Cas' ass and suddenly they are colliding on a cosmic level, the flimsy fabric of the Santa suit doing little to shield Cas' cock from the delicious friction of Dean's hips. He can feel Dean, hard through his pajama bottoms. And as always, Dean is an excellent teacher when it comes to all things human. 'Like this,' is a thousand times better and Cas feels the crescendo building as his hands clutch at the hem of Dean's shirt. 

They are so wrapped up that they do not feel the angle of the slide their bodies have started upon and when Cas finally slips from the support of the post at his back, the sensation of tumbling only partially registers as the pleasant freefall of his lust--until they hit the tree which cushions their fall to the floor with a muffled crash and jolts them out of the kiss. 

"Are you okay?" Dean looks genuinely worried as his fingers find the back of Cas' head to check for where he may have hit the floor. The concern is sweet enough to make a lump catch in Cas' throat. 

"I'm still an angel, Dean--" he reasons, but Dean shakes his head.

"You died." Dean interrupts, the intensity of his stare suddenly overwhelming. After months, it is the first time Dean has even uttered the words and Cas can only gaze back at him, feeling the weight of his own absence still lingering in Dean's limbs. "So I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you again." A promise they both know Dean can't keep, but the desire is so pure that Cas accepts it as truth. 

With Dean on top of him, Cas can hardly pay attention to anything else. The universe is reduced to the hot press of lips and the way Dean falls back into kissing him so easily. He hopes that with the first kiss out of the way, no other kiss will ever be lost to hesitation again. He wants all of them, every single one Dean has a mind to give him. "I love you," Dean pushes the words into his skin, etching the confession with soft lips and the tip of his tongue at Cas' Adam's apple. 

"DEAN!" The alarmed cry is not Cas', but a voice from behind them. "Stop! What are you doing to Santa Claus!?" 

Like teenagers caught by their parents, Dean and Cas scramble away from each other. Cas grabs his beard and pushes it back up to hide his face while Dean gets to his feet. Are they really going to do this? Dean looks back over his shoulder at Cas who pleads with his eyes. Yeah, they're really going to do this. 

Jack's eyes are on Dean, protective fury starting to boil behind them. 

"Whoa! Whoa! Hey!" Dean holds up his hands. "It's fine! This guy breaks into the bunker and I tackle him. I didn't realize who it was--" internally, Dean is cursing Cas for making him do this. Through grit teeth: "I'm sorry." 

Dean helps Cas to his feet and even in the dim light of the fallen Christmas tree, crumpled on the floor, Dean cannot see how anyone could be fooled by this get up. But past his brief alarm, Jack looks awed, clutching the plate of cookies in both hands. 

"Hello, Jack." Cas says, doing his best to disguise his voice. To hide his amusement, Dean sets to cleaning up the mess of the Christmas tree. "You're not supposed to be awake. No one is--" he directs this at Dean who smirks to himself. 

"I wanted to ask you something." Jack's confidence catches on his nerves and he stares down at his feet. "I'm sorry, but it's very important." Jack's voice is urgent now, and Cas expects a query about his reindeer, how he flies around the world in one night, or maybe a rumination on elves. But Jack's question strikes him in the gut when it comes: "Am I good?" 

Because of course, of all the mythical creatures Jack could meet face to face, Santa Claus would be the one to know the answer to that all important struggle in his mind. 

"You've done more good things than bad things. And I see that you want to do good. So yes, Jack. You're on the nice list this year. I expect you'll be on it for years to come so long as you keep wanting to be. Now go to bed, all right?" 

Looking awash with relief, Jack sets the plate of cookies down on the table. "Milk's in the fridge," he offers before doing as Cas instructs and heading to his room. 

Once Jack is gone, Dean grumbles from the floor. "It's a fucking Hallmark commercial up in here." He finally rights the tree, having sorted out the knot of Christmas lights. "Did you seriously just hold that sappy Lifetime Original conversation with a hard on?" 

Finally, Cas can breathe and he laughs. "I did." 

"I think that puts you on the real Santa's naughty list, Cas." The hunger in Dean's tone is enough to make Cas' knees wobble. Dean is at Cas' side, lacing their fingers together. He whispers against the shell of Cas' ear, sending renewed desire coursing through every inch of him. "Come to bed." 

Dean grabs the plate of Oreos on their way out.


End file.
